


First Impressions

by lferion



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Sequence, First Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-23
Updated: 2010-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-12 03:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/pseuds/lferion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarek comes to Earth for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Penknife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penknife/gifts).



The Terran homeworld was the color of blood, green and profligate. From space, it had floated blue and white and cold; in the clutter of near orbit, the sheer quantity of water occasioning remark among several of the delegation. Sarek had reviewed the glossy, cheerful* media presentation for persons making their first visit to Earth. 71 percent surface water, an estimate only; the most arid places on the planet had water enough in the air to drown a keflik incautious enough to swim the winds in full-collection configuration. A world of contrasts, of variation and plenty, alien to Vulcan austerity.

 

*(Yes, cheerful was the word: he was choosing to think in English - which bore a strong similarity to the flexibility and inquiry of the Children's tongue, the a-rational expressiveness of the Artisan's mode - in a deliberate effort to access and understand something of the Truth of Terra, encoded in their speech, the language used in materials intended for Terrans and non-Terrans alike. It was, after all, his specialty, the understanding of The Other, the crafting of mutual and beneficial connections with and among them. The assemblage of facts both relevant and curious in the "Introduction to Earth" had been revealing.)

 

The ship-to-surface shuttle skimmed down from the familiar darkness of the upper edge of the atmosphere envelope, the nightside landmasses spangled with lights, the dayside layered with clouds of water vapor, the surface shadowed and bright in random patterns that shifted with the mild currents of the prevailing winds. Everywhere one looked was evidence of Human presence – solar collectors, low-atmosphere craft, cities that rose high and spread wide, which floated on the ocean surface or clung to mountain sides, interspersed with expanses of cultivated land. Sarek wondered how all that water, that abundant greenery, that benevolence, had shaped the Terrans.

 

(This time, Vulcan was sending a full and formal diplomatic and cultural delegation, picked and trained, not an almost-accidental trade group scouting party with a side mission of threat assessment. This time, there had been an analysis of the various historic interactions between Vulcans and Terrans, a preliminary survey of static and performative art, an ongoing linguistic workup. This time, mission chief T'Lau was from Cultural and Diplomatic Affairs, not Defense, and while Commerce was represented, Sineer was not in charge. Observation showed that Humans would explore and expand regardless of Vulcan opinion. Logic dictated Humans be respected as equals.)

 

The world smelled wet. Outside of intake and customs, the shuttleport was not temperature and humidity-controlled, as both starship and shuttle had been by necessity; and mechanical systems, however adjustable, were not the same as an entire world's living atmosphere. The aromatics alone were a revelation. Color, light, buoyancy of step, all was new, different, interesting. As the Vulcan delegation was politely shepherded toward transport to the Embassy, Sarek took in what he could, fascinated. He caught a lilting phrase of song from a musician playing on the transit-platform:

 _Far from home the Pelican flies  
Spreading her wings full wide  
No land a stranger to her need:  
To serve and thus to bide.  
Far from home the Pelican flies  
Far, far from home._

The shuttle had been named _Pelican. _The words seemed strangely apropos.__

* * *

Sarek stood a little straighter, seeing T'Arien approach with two humans. The formal reception for the delegation would be tomorrow evening, this was an informal gathering (for some definitions of informal – it certainly had a form to it, a tradition and ritual, however flexible in execution) to meet the people they would be actually working with for the next days and months.

T'Arien spoke, "Sarek, make you known to Dr Merriman" the sharp-featured man who unaccountably put Sarek in mind of T'Pau nodded, "and Dr Grayson, linguistics and translation."

The young woman smiled up at him, "Please, call me Amanda."

**Author's Note:**

> The poem-song that Sarek hears a bit of is Pelican Song, found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/120206


End file.
